Fine Line
by turnonmy-charm
Summary: Lofty never cared about how he looked, not really, but the way he felt was different. Everyone always said he was friendly, nice and kind – he was a good person. The smaller he was, the better he was - that was just fact. (TW: eating disorders and weight related issues, Dyfty if you squint)
1. Chapter 1

**Trigger warnings for eating disorders and weight related issues. Dyfty if you squint.**

* * *

It was colder than normal. Even bundled up with a hoodie, Lofty felt the air nip at him. Autumn was only just beginning – it'd get worse as the months darkened.

The nurse could feel his skin prickle.

The outside of Holby was relatively quiet for midday, with only a few people ambling around. Lofty would even go as far as to say it was peaceful. This calm would be more welcomed if his stomach had stopped churning and twisting. The pangs ached and his mind couldn't focus on anything else. Arms crossed, hands under armpits, He willed his stomach to stop reminding him.

"Lofty," He heard Rita before he saw her apologetic face, "Sorry to cut your break short, we need you in Resus…"

Her sentence lingered and he pushed a smile – he had to stop thinking about _himself_ , he had to be dependable.

"No worries, Rita," Lofty followed her into the E.D., noting there was only a slight improvement in temperature, "What's happening?"

With that Lofty was back to work – hoodie off, empathetic smile on. He was usually thankful for work, if only for the fact he was able to focus on something else. Caring for other people meant he was less selfish, less fixated on the numbers calculating in his mind… less _hungry_.

It worked in his favour, really.

* * *

When Ben was fifteen he went on a diet. He had always been chubby. His mother said it was sweet, said it would go as he grew up but after the first few growth spurts, it was obvious he needed to force some changes.

He told his parents and they agreed, just as long as he was 'sensible'.

Ben was never good at being 'sensible'.

However, he did make simple changes. Fewer sweets, more exercise. He tried his hand at various sports and ultimately realised why he had never tried before (always too clumsy) but along the way he made some more friends – always good.

Slowly the weight came off and another growth spurt a year later, Lofty was the definition of 'normal' size. Yet, when he relaxed his eating, that's when he noticed the weight would start to go back on. He also realised that his large group of friends had started to shrink, with people no longer bothering to talk to him and falling to other friendship groups.

That's when Ben started to panic.

Another year later, He was back on the diet but more secretly than before. He was stricter about his food and exercised more. The pounds fell off and he felt good again – he even managed to reconnect some of his old friendships. He smiled all the time; his mother would giggle and say it was infectious.

By the time Lofty was eighteen his weight was firmly in the normal range. A bit below the mid point but nothing extreme – he wasn't stupid. Yet, he couldn't face letting go of calorie counting. After all, it was just keeping him in shape, right? There was nothing wrong with being healthy. He just kept at it and controlled his intake but it was _fine._

Lofty never cared about how he looked, not really, but the way he _felt_ was different. He finally had more friends, people that liked him…everyone always said he was friendly, nice and kind – he was a good person. The smaller he was, the _better_ he was.

If forced, that's where Lofty would say it all began.

* * *

Scratch what Lofty mused earlier – peace had no time at Holby. Just as Rita summoned him away from his break, all hell broke loose at the E.D.

An RTC involving four teenagers had been called in, two serious and two minor. From the looks of them they were barely adults and from what they could gather, the driver had only recently passed his exam.

There was always a bigger sense of urgency with cases involving minors, and they were normally the cases Lofty felt most emotional over. Adults could deal with trauma and tragedy but they were just kids. They shouldn't have to deal with the real world, not yet.

What was worse was that the driver had been trying to avoid danger– a kid had run out in the road and he swerved and crashed right into a building.

Resus was bustling and Lofty tried to help out the best he could. Assisting Dr. Hanna he had to be in the zone, he had to do well.

Which was why the voice in the back of his head was extra irritating. He couldn't let himself think about that right now, he had a job to do – why wouldn't his brain just focus on the task, he couldn't mess up or come over with a bout of 'Loftyitis' –

"We're in VT – Lofty –"

He caught Dr. Hanna's eyes and nodded, getting back into action. He couldn't be stupid…

Yet all he could think about was how much easier this would be if he did feel so lightheaded.

* * *

Ben got more controlling in his twenties, especially when he had full control on what he bought and ate. At first he enjoyed it – he liked buying exactly what he wanted and eating however much he wanted from it. He stuck to the numbers, of course, but there was a giddy freedom in not having to think about what others wanted or what they thought.

Then it became a constant. A chore. A limitation. Each time he'd go to the supermarket it would turn into an ordeal. He would pick things up, meticulously check it and put it back. Then pick it up. Then put it back – was this brand better than his usual? Less calories? How much was each slice meant to weigh? He'd weigh it at home anyway but he preferred it if he didn't have to interfere _too_ much.

Special occasions became a lot more strained. He tried to relax at Christmas, he really did, but he couldn't face eating a whole dinner. He could tell his parents were starting to worry so he began a spiel about his 'healthy lifestyle' and threw around words like 'vegetarian' and their worry waned.

However, he could tell they weren't entirely sure.

Ben knew that some of his restrictions weren't great health-wise. He knew that weighing yourself daily wasn't recommended. He also knew that he was getting further away from the 'normal weight range'.

Yet, he was sure it could be worse. It wasn't like he wasn't in control – he just wanted to stay healthy, stay _safe_.

Working at Holby didn't alter his choices, if anything it proved the best distraction. It did take Lofty some time to convince Robyn that, yes, he preferred to go shopping by himself and, no, it wasn't personal and, yes, he really did enjoy eating bran flakes.

It couldn't be described as a sudden deterioration; it was just an on going quirk that started to take up more and more of Lofty's time. He knew it wasn't normal to feel dizzy most of the time, or that the idea of eating most food repulsed him.

He wasn't stupid. It just wasn't a problem…until it was.

* * *

It was a miracle the staffroom was empty. Lofty felt drained in every way possible. Taking his hoodie out of his locker, he threw it on and tried to hold on to the minimal warmth it provided.

The cold was still troubling him.

He put the kettle on to boil, body running on autopilot. His fingers splayed on the countertop, he barely realised he was hunched over with his eyes closed.

They lost the driver. The teen. He was only seventeen. He had his whole life ahead of him. He had so much more to live for. Although he died trying to protect a child, it was little comfort in the grand scheme of things.

The job wasn't always a good distraction.

As if on queue, Lofty's stomach twisted painfully. He couldn't help but wince. Often he would be used to it like background nose. Some days it was worse.

But it was fine; it wasn't like he was eating nothing. He wasn't stupid.

"Ben-"

Lofty lifted his head at Dylan's voice and attempted to turn around to face him – attempted, due to his vision tilting violently as he lifted his head. Fingers gripped the countertop; a low groan fell from his mouth as Lofty fought against his blurry vision and ringing ears.

"Ben?" Dylan's tone held something Lofty wasn't sure of – concern?

He forced himself to meet Dylan's eyes and smile, "Sorry, it's been a long day."

It was then Lofty was aware that Dylan had moved towards him and was looking at him with…worry? He loosened his grip of the countertop and nodded at the kettle.

"Want a cup of tea? Just boiled the kettle…" Lofty moved away from the Doctor, getting two mugs and spooning coffee into his own.

Dylan wouldn't stop looking at him. Lofty was starting to feel nervous.

"No, thank you…Ben," His words seemed thought out and deliberate. Lofty would almost prefer an insult to whatever this was, "Are you feeling okay?"

Lofty smiled, albeit a little solemnly, and nodded slowly, "The RTC just took it out of me I suppose, but I'm fine – good!" He smile more enthusiastic, trying to justify his point.

He poured the boiling water in to his mug, focusing on that instead of Dylan's never-ending stare. He just tried to think about calculating the numbers from his coffee, 15? Better make it 30, just in case…

"You should rest," Dylan finally said after what must have been an eternity, "You don't want to become rundown…it effects how you work and, er, keeps Rita off your back. Always a plus."

At least Lofty's smile this time was more genuine, "I'll try… thanks."

Dylan made a noise of understanding, before getting back to work and leaving. Lofty sat (or gracefully fell) into a seat. He couldn't contain the long drawn out sigh that came out of him. Bringing the mug to his lips, he sipped.

He hoped his thoughts would quieten soon.

* * *

A week later and Lofty was in a rush. He had overslept which meant he missed his breakfast of coffee.

More detrimental, he missed his morning weigh in.

It frustrated Lofty to no end. He couldn't do it later, not with water weight and whatever he ate on top of it - it wouldn't be accurate. He had thought about trying to weigh himself at the hospital but he knew that wouldn't be good – the scales would probably be wrong and where he'd find the time to do that…

This all culminated in Lofty not having the best start to the day. It was also, of course, an extremely busy day. The moment he stepped into the E.D. he had been treating, fetching, sourcing, talking…. It was one of those days that he knew having a break would not be an option.

However, his stomach wasn't bothering him – just a little pang every now and again. At least that slightly improved his mood.

There was one thing that kept happening in the past week that Lofty couldn't shake off – Dylan's staring. It seemed that every time they were working the same shift, Lofty would look up and see Dylan just looking at him. It was becoming a touch unnerving. They were mates now – Lofty was definitely pleased about this – but Dylan would rarely say anything unless Lofty started the conversation.

It was just weird.

When Lofty did manage to secure a tiny break ("No more than five minutes please, sorry Lofty!") he put on his hoodie and stepped outside. It was nice to be away from the bustle, despite the fact he felt like he was freezing. He noticed that not even being inside helped him anymore – he knew he had shivered in front of the patients a number of times.

Lofty also recognised he was more exhausted than usual, due to an almost complete lack of sleep. He had never had the best sleeping pattern but lately it had been worse. He stayed up, running numbers through his head, planning the next day, calories…

"Cold?"

Lofty looked up, vaguely startled to see Dylan stood next to him. He wondered how long he had been stood there.

"A bit," Lofty replied almost sheepishly, "I've always felt the cold."

"It's only going to get colder."

"Unfortunately – not a fan of winter?"

Dylan eyed him curiously, "I can't say I've felt much opinion towards the seasons – all a bit futile isn't it."

Lofty shrugged in response. Even talking tired him out now.

They stood in silence for a while. It wasn't unpleasant, but Lofty became aware that Dylan was looking at him again.

"I've got to get back to work, see you in a bit Dr. Keogh," He smiled at the older man, not waiting for a response before going back into the hospital.

Today was definitely not doing Lofty any favours.

* * *

"Lofty!"

His ears were ringing, _again_. His eyes were blurry, _again._ He was on the floor? That hadn't happened in a while…

Lofty wasn't sure how he had gotten on the floor but he was willing to bet it was because of something clumsy – it'd be classic Lofty.

Blinking against the harsh E.D. lights, Lofty tried to remember where exactly he was and why. He felt hands against him and he lamely tried to move away from them.

"Ge'off"

Slowly he recognised he was in Resus…then he remembered he was going to chase up an X Ray and then –

"Put him into Bay 1, Let's get started with general obs and - "

Lofty groaned as he was lifted up into a bed and tried not to wince at whoever muttered about how light he was.

He fainted. Or collapsed. He wasn't sure.

Dylan came in to view, stethoscope in hand. He was talking to him but Lofty couldn't make out the words. He felt hands pulling at him, things being put onto him and – ow – a needle.

What was worrying him more was that he could not focus on anything. Everything was a blur of movement and sound.

"Uhm, Dr. Keogh, his BP is really low – am I reading this correctly?"

Lofty was sure that was Robyn and he was also sure that she had read it correctly. It was _fine_ , though, he could deal with this if everyone would stop moving so quickly.

He could hear Dylan talk, he felt Robyn hold his hand and he knew others were buzzing around him. He just didn't feel like he was there. He was tired.

Lofty decided he deserved to sleep.

* * *

It was the cold that woke him up. At first disorientated, Lofty soon realised he was in cubicles. Glancing down at his body he also noticed he was hooked up to some things.

He wished people would stop worrying.

Tiredness was still aching inside of him but at least his stomach was quiet. He wondered what time it was, he couldn't have been out for too long. He just over did it with the work and the caffeine probably, the moment he got home and rested up he'd be _fine_.

In fact, Lofty was feeling tons better anyway. Though the IV drip out of the corner of his eye was obviously not an indicator of 'wellness'. Still, he was a nurse – he wasn't stupid.

Sitting up slowly, Lofty toyed with the idea of taking off the wires and drips connected to him. He didn't want to get yelled at though, it'd probably cause more fuss.

Just as Lofty was thinking of getting up, the curtain was drawn back.

Dr. Keogh stood in all his staring glory.

Lofty tried not to visibly shrink back.

"Ben, you're awake," Dylan noted, closing the curtain behind him, "Good."

Lofty wasn't so sure it was good.

"Do you remember how you got here?"

Lofty nodded, "I…fell."

Dylan's eyebrows furrowed, "You collapsed."

"Oh."

Lofty avoided the other man's gaze, feeling more under scrutiny with every passing minute. He just wanted to go home. Giving Dylan a sparing glance, he saw the Doctor stand with his hands on his hips and a questioning look. He was getting the full Dr. Keogh treatment.

"When you collapsed," Dylan started again, "Your blood pressure was extremely low and you were massively dehydrated. Your bloods came back… spotty at best. We need to keep you in here until your levels are sufficient, I think there's already some improvement."

"I guess I'm entitled to my lunch break, then." Lofty forced a smile.

Dylan continued to frown. He took a step closer to the bed, eyes focused on the younger man.

"You mentioned the other day you felt the cold, well, more so than usual. You're obviously fatigued, having dizzy spells and…unable to focus…"

Lofty's smile slipped away, an uncomfortable wince replacing it. Dylan continued to talk, although his eyes remained on the dark haired nurse's shrinking form.

"Ben, I need to ask. What are your eating habits like?"

"Fine."

Dylan raised an eyebrow, "Elaboration would be nice."

"Normal. Healthy. I don't eat junk food, stick to fruit and veg. You know, basic healthy stuff," Lofty attempted a smile again but he felt it come off as a grimace.

Dylan kept questioning.

"Specifically, what do you eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner – generally?"

"Uhm," Lofty stumbled for an answer, trying to find the fine line between lie and truth, "Generally…skip breakfast, always in a rush," He chuckled, "Lunch would be…soup or a sandwich? Then dinner would be whatever Robyn is cooking. All normal."

Lofty could tell Dylan didn't believe him straight away.

"That's odd…I spoke to Robyn and she said you only ever ate by yourself, shopping included," Dylan paused, "Rita has also said she has never noticed you eating your meals here, and personally I have only ever seen you drink water or coffee…what's the truth, Ben?"

Lofty didn't realised his hands were clenched around the blanket. He tried to avoid Dylan's gaze.

"It's fine."

"Fine?"

"I don't like eating in front of people, never have. That's all."

Silence evaded the cubicle. Dylan took another step closer.

"Ben, when Rita helped put a hospital gown on you –" Lofty's eyes widened in surprise, "she said you looked very thin, and I would have to agree."

Dylan gave him a knowing look, chin down and eyes directly on Lofty's.

Lofty tried to remain passive. People were just making a fuss for no reason.

"I've…I've always been…" The younger man searched for a reason but couldn't find one good enough, "It's _fine_."

That's when Dylan sat down on the end of Lofty's bed and Lofty looked at him in surprise, "Dr. Keogh?"

"You've looked run down for months – I'd even say since I came back to work here," Dylan asserted, sounding stern but also soft, "If you were any other patient I'd have a diagnosis in mind –"

"Can I go after my stats are better?" Lofty quickly blurted out.

They stared at each other for a minute before Dylan conceded with a small nod, "Yes…although that wouldn't be what I'd suggest."

They spent a few more minutes just sitting in each other's company, no words uttered between them. Lofty couldn't stand the increasing tension, the questions that went unasked, the accusations that should be flying across the room.

Lofty was beginning to wonder if he was wrong. He couldn't be. He had done so well for so long.

Curiosity got the better of him.

"If," Lofty's voice rasped, "I was any other patient…what would you say?"

Dylan's frown sunk into his face, but his eyes held sympathy – it felt surreal to Lofty.

"I would say, " Dylan started, steady in tone, "that you were suffering from an Eating Disorder - most likely, Anorexia Nervosa. I'd suggest a referral to the psych team and take it from there. "

In the depths of his mind, Lofty knew he expected that answer. It felt strange for those words to be uttered out loud. He was fine…surely?

Dr. Hanna opening the curtain took both men out of their heads. She gave a sincere apology but she needed Dylan. The older man nodded at her, watching her as she left and closed the curtain. Lofty followed his gaze.

"I have to go," Dylan said looking back at Lofty. The younger man seemed much smaller than before, "There is always help, Ben. However arbitrary is seems, everyone here wants the best for you."

"I'm…fine." Lofty attempted once more, but even now he was losing conviction in his words.

Dylan didn't respond, but nodded a muttered 'ok' before standing up and moving away from the bed.

"I'll check on you when I can," He said, moving towards the curtains. He paused before leaving, "You deserve help, Ben."

The sincerity in his voice affected Lofty in a way he couldn't place.

" _I_ think you deserve to get help for this." Dylan paused again, before giving Lofty a small nod and opening the curtain.

When he left, Lofty let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Thoughts swelled in his head. He didn't know how to feel. He didn't know how to respond to the diagnosis. He didn't have a problem, did he?

The IV drip and hammering heart told him otherwise.

Lofty sighed, lying back and shutting his eyes. Maybe Dylan was right. Maybe he was wrong.

Soon all Lofty felt was cold once again.

* * *

 **A/N: I haven't written fanfic in a long, long, time so I hope you enjoyed this story. I may do a follow up to this at some point but for now I have to focus on Uni work and pretending I know lots about History. I also want to add that if you relate to the way Lofty feels in this story than I urge to talk to someone, anyone you trust, about it. Weight and eating related issues can quickly become all consuming, and you _always_ deserve to receive help. **


	2. Chapter 2

Trigger warnings for Eating Disorders, weight related issues and calorie counting.

* * *

Breath ragged, heart thrumming in his ears – Lofty pounded his feet against the pavement. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Breath in. Breath out. Slowly. Controlled.

The air was cold, cutting in his throat as he inhaled.

God, he hated running.

Yet, in the grand scheme of things, Lofty knew he needed to exercise. He knew it was the right thing to do. Over the years he'd lost the motivation for regular workouts, treating it as only a last minute endeavour if he'd suffered weakness and scoffed food he shouldn't –

No. Food is there to be eaten. Food is deserved.

Lofty was fine.

After the 'incident', he knew he had to change things. He couldn't have another accident, another fall…most of all he couldn't have Dylan looking at him with concern again. Ever since that day, the stares had been more constant – not only from Dylan, but from Rita and Robyn as well. Not to mention the other pairs of eyes that now searched for him. Lofty could handle the extra enquiries, the invitations for lunch, the many cups of tea (with sugar and milk) suddenly being offered.

Lofty would smile. Accept or decline. Offer a joke. Leave.

It was the looks. The touches. The pity.

Everyone was looking at him constantly. Judging. Waiting.

Sometimes he just wanted to scream at them. Tell them to stop. He wasn't a child. He wasn't ill. He was fine. He just let things get out of control but that wouldn't happen again.

Lofty was definitely not anorexic.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew anyone could have anorexia – it wasn't just an issue for teenage girls. He was a nurse. He knew the signs. He also knew he did not qualify. He didn't care about his image or the way he looked. He definitely wasn't under weight. He didn't need to be diagnosed.

So, Lofty was making small changes. He could recognise he was, perhaps, too restrictive in the past. He could definitely eat more and still be in control. He could still feel right.

Breakfast was a necessity now, not an after thought. A bowl of porridge – with water, not milk – and a small banana cut into smaller pieces laid on top. It was a perfect 200 calories. Coffee was with sugar now, too. Not to mention, lunch was made in the morning and bought into the E.D., clean plastic boxes encasing a carefully thought out meal of 300 to 400 calories. It was all in control.

Slowing to a standstill, Lofty panted heavily. He looked at his watch - an hour of running completed. His breakfast weighed heavily in his stomach. The nausea crept in his throat.

Another twenty minutes wouldn't do any harm.

Left foot. Right foot. Breath in. Breath out.

God, Lofty hated running.

* * *

"Cup of tea, Lofty?"

Robyn's voice was light and kind and Lofty didn't have to look at her face to know she was smiling. He tried to match her, although he knew the smile didn't quite reach his own eyes.

"Thanks."

Lofty thought he better say yes. It'd been a while since he'd accepted a drink, and he knew if he left it too long there'd be an onslaught of questions. He rooted through his locker, fingers lightly touching the plastic boxes (salad: 120 calories, pasta: 340, apple: 50) his stomach churning at the thought. He pretended to be fascinated at the contents of his locker, though in reality he didn't want to encourage more conversation.

Faintly Lofty wondered when he started fearing chats with his friends.

The kettle boiled, a loud click sounding throughout the room. The water was poured twice, spoons clanged against porcelain.

It all felt too loud.

The door opened and Lofty chanced a look over his shoulder. The pit of his stomach dropped. Dylan glanced back.

"Afternoon Dr. Keogh!" Robyn's voice distracted the Doctor, "Would you like a cuppa?"

"No thank you, Robyn," Dylan was moving across the room, over to his locker.

Lofty swallowed involuntarily, shutting his own locker briskly and moving away before the other man reached him. For some reason, he felt shame rise through his body.

"Lofty," Robyn nodded at the mug on the side, "There you go."

He offered her a smile, taking the cup in his hands and relishing the warmth. The light brown beverage caused his eyebrows to furrow slightly. He imagined the milk swirling, the granules of sugar caught up in the waves. They danced together. Mocking.

It made his teeth clench.

The calories were uncertain, but Lofty hazard a guess – and guessing made him worried.

Stop. Try. Stop. Try.

He pushed the thoughts of numbers away, to the corner of his mind. He had to try.

Lofty wasn't ill.

He could feel Robyn watch him, urging him to take a sip. So he did. The sweetness hit him, coating his mouth. He forced a sound of appreciation.

"Thanks, Robyn."

It placated her, smile widening. Lofty moved over to the sofa, taking another couple of sips, willing his mind to stop shouting at him.

Robyn started chatting and Lofty offered noises of understanding every now and then, though his mind couldn't stop worrying about Dylan still rummaging through a locker. He hadn't talked to him since the 'incident' – not beyond the realms of work. Any moment that the two of them even had a chance of being alone together, Lofty had bolted. The words 'psychiatric evaluation' loomed in his head.

Lofty didn't need psychiatric help. Dylan had gotten it wrong. He was fine and it was all a mistake. He had pushed himself too far but now it was fine.

However, if they had a moment alone…Lofty was fairly certain Dylan wouldn't believe his reasoning.

Pulling him out of his thoughts, Rita popped her head into the staff room. Her face was apologetic, though she smiled at the sight of Lofty with a cup of tea.

"Robyn, can I borrow you for a second?"

Robyn hummed a yes, quickly following the older nurse out of the room.

Lofty felt his mind go blank. He tried to find an excuse, a way to escape but all in all his body felt numb and exhausted. He wasn't sure he could run out of the room if he tried.

Silence hung in the air. Dylan had closed his locker and stood. Lofty could feel him watching.

Neither spoke.

Dylan moved to leave after a moment, barely glancing at Lofty as he passed. The nurse felt his shoulders slope, the tension dissipating. However, Dylan paused at the door. He turned back.

"Ben," Lofty's heart hammered, "Have you given any thought to…what I said before?"

He knew feigning ignorance wouldn't cut it.

"I…" He searched for words, grasping for an answer, "I understand your…worry. But I'm fine. Better. It was a big…accident before. I guess I got carried away? Bit stupid. It's fine now. Honestly, Dylan."

The doctor stared at him for a moment. It was obvious Lofty's explanation was not what he wanted to hear.

"Ben – " Before he could continue, Robyn burst through the door offering apologies at interrupting their chat.

"You'll never guess what just happened…" Robyn began, the tension from before dropping quickly. She sat on the sofa beside Lofty, unaware of just how thankful the male nurse was for her presence.

Dylan left without another word and Lofty only spared one more glance.

The truth of the matter was that Lofty _had_ thought about what Dylan had said. The problem was he couldn't stop thinking about it.

* * *

The first day Lofty tried to stop calorie counting, he succeeded. He couldn't stop the numbers from appearing in his mind, but he was able to not note them down.

It still felt safe. He still knew how many calories were in everything, and his meals rarely varied so it wasn't as frightening as he anticipated.

It was silly, really. The numbers.

Pride swelled in his chest. He wasn't ill. He could stop. He was normal.

On the second day, the fear crept in.

He had managed breakfast (although the banana looked bigger than usual and Lofty wasn't sure just how many more calories that was) and he had slogged through lunch (he bought a sandwich and although the calories were on there how could he know it was true they could have messed up they could have could have) but by dinner he was a wreck.

He had to know. He had messed up. His skin was crawling. He had to know.

On the third day, Lofty gave up.

The sense of relief far overwhelmed the swell of shame.

* * *

A week later, Lofty tried to give up counting again.

A week after that, he tried once more.

After that, Lofty could feel the weight of numbers on him constantly. They hung around his neck and dug into his shoulders. They grabbed at his arms and nipped at his heels. He stopped preparing meals. He stopped accepting drinks. He cut down.

Lofty wasn't so sure he was fine anymore.

* * *

Left foot.

Right foot.

The thump of Lofty's feet against the tarmac was sluggish. The rhythm was unsteady. His breaths came in short gasps as though he only just remembered to breathe. His body felt as though it was burning.

At least it was a change from feeling as though it was made from ice all the time.

A quick glance at his watch and he noted it had been almost two hours since he had left the house –

Lofty collided against something hard and slumped to the ground. Blinking a few times (and trying to stop the waves of dizziness) he made out the figure of a tall, slim, pole.

A lamppost.

As usual, Lofty's clumsiness had been his downfall. If his body didn't ache so much, he would have laughed at how stupid he was. Unfortunately, he was more focused on trying not to lose his vision and the way he couldn't catch his breath back.

Lofty wasn't sure if had been seconds or minutes since he fell when the soft fur of an animal brushed past his leg. A second later he felt a small lick on his leg.

Lifting up his head, Lofty saw the familiar face of Dervla looking up at him.

"Hello, you," he softly spoke, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart, "You haven't run away, have you?"

"Not this time," he heard Dylan's voice before he saw him, "Just decided to be mischievous instead."

Lofty didn't have to force his smile. Reaching out, he touched Dervla behind the ears and felt her head lean into his hand.

"Ben, why are you on the floor?"

"I…I might have run into the lamppost."

"Well, that explains an awful lot. I didn't know you were into running?"

"I'm not really into it, just felt like it today. You know, do something other than watch the telly." Lofty wondered if Dylan could see through his lies.

He didn't bother to look up and find out, instead focusing on Dervla licking his hand.

"Do you need a hand, Ben?" Dylan asked after a moment.

Lofty should his head – instantly regretting the action – and moved his hands to the ground.

"I'm fine, I was just getting my breath back. Didn't hurt anything – other than my pride…" he moved to stand up, trying to take it slowly.

Even with Lofty's heightened focus, he couldn't help but stumble as his vision swam. Dylan's hands went to his forearms, steadying him. Lofty didn't attempt to make him stop, instead gratefully accepting his steadying force.

"Ben," Dylan's voice was soft, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah…thank you, Dylan. Sorry."

"It's quite alright. Don't overdo it, Ben. Get some rest. Get something to eat."

Looking up at the doctor, Lofty saw the worry in his eyes. He was still holding onto the nurse, waiting for a reply. Lofty tried to smile. He tried to be calm.

"I will."

He could tell the wobble in his voice did nothing to reassure the older man.

* * *

Lofty was tired. He couldn't concentrate for longer than a minute. He couldn't talk without slurring. It was as though he was constantly drunk but without the elatedness alcohol could conjure.

The hospital felt colder than ever.

He felt like a robot. He would wake up. Go to work. Go home. Sleep. Sometimes he went for a run but after the incident with Dylan, Lofty was worried he would fall again.

He was more worried he wouldn't be able to get back up by himself.

Lofty wasn't an idiot. He knew this…wasn't exactly normal. He knew that if he saw this in a patient, he would be worried. Yet, he persevered. He knew he would be fine. Eventually.

His shift had just finished and Lofty had never been more grateful for the chance to go home and sleep. Not that sleep would change much. He was awake for most of the night now, his mind racing and unable to switch off.

Numbers would swirl in his head for hours upon hours.

Lofty was on his way out of the hospital, coat zipped up to the neck, when he heard Rita's voice. Looking to the right, he could just about see Rita's back. In front of her stood Dylan, hands on hips with a furrowed brow.

"I don't know what else I can do, Dylan," Rita said, voice strained, "He's stopped accepting tea or coffee – if you can't give him a drink, I very much doubt he'd take a sandwich."

Lofty felt heat in his cheeks. He wasn't an idiot. He knew they were talking about him. He stood still, just out of Dylan's sight line, listening. His heart sank with every word.

"He's ignoring me," Dylan's voice was low, "I haven't spoken to him since I saw him on his run. He leaves the room when I enter."

"I don't want to bring this to Connie, I really don't. Can't we make an appointment for him? He might listen-"

"You know as well as I do that people only accept help when they want it," Dylan let out a heavy sigh, "He can't keep working like this. He'll put the patients in danger."

Lofty felt his chest tighten. They thought he was useless. They thought he couldn't do his job.

"If it continues…I'm going to have to tell Connie. It's not right. For him or the patients."

Dylan made a noise of agreement and Lofty could feel his blood turn cold.

"Rita, if he continues what he's doing..." Dylan paused, voice quietening, "I'm not sure how long he'll have left."

Silence hung in the air.

* * *

It started with a slice of toast.

Lofty put it on a plate. He smeared a touch of butter across the top. He watched it melt. He put it to his mouth. He chewed. He swallowed.

His mind screamed at him.

He finished the slice, somehow, and then he started to walk to work. Lofty felt his skin thrum. He felt his stomach churn. His mind was a hive of noise.

For whatever reason, Lofty found himself in the local food shop. He hadn't been there on a non-food shopping day in a while. He legs took him down the aisles, hands grasping a basket he wasn't aware he picked up.

Then the floodgates opened.

Lofty felt possessed. His mind only had one thing on its mind. Food. The basket became filled with items upon items, food he hadn't touched in years. Chocolate, crisps, sugar powdered doughnuts filled with jam and cupcakes iced in floral patterns. He paid for it at self-check out, placing item after item in a plastic bag.

After he left, Lofty walked towards Holby City. His thoughts were everywhere and he couldn't catch one to focus on. He saw the hospital in the distance but before he could reach it, he slipped into a nearby alleyway.

It was early morning. There weren't many people walking about.

His hands reached into the bag, pulling out a chocolate bar. He took off the wrapper quickly and then he felt the instant sweetness hit his tongue. Again. Again. Soon it was replaced with the powdered sugar of a doughnut, chewing into the soft dough. The crunch of crisps followed, and then there was more instant sweetness from fluffy cakes.

Lofty could feel his taste buds explode, his mouth continually chewing and his stomach expanding. He couldn't stop. He gorged. His hands moved quickly. His mouth moved quicker. There was no pleasure from it. It was monotonous. Constant.

It hurt.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed but he had reached the last chocolate bar. Suddenly Lofty felt the reality of the situation dawn upon him. The numbers wracked up in his head but it was so quick he wasn't sure if he was right or wrong. Wrappers littered the ground.

Shame spread through him. Disgust.

Lofty dropped the final chocolate bar and used his sleeves to wipe at his mouth. He brushed off his body. His distended stomach was painful to the touch.

Lofty had never been more repulsed at himself.

He walked away from the scene briskly, leaving the evidence behind. When he entered Holby City, he tried not to look anyone in the eye. Lofty went straight to the staff room ignoring everyone he saw along the way. Opening his locker, his hands went for his scrubs. He needed to prove he could still work, he needed to show he wasn't a liability, he needed, he needed, he –

"Ben, what's wrong?"

Lofty pushed past Dylan, running to the men's toilets. Bursting through the door he went to the first stall. He didn't have time to shut the door behind him. Barely getting the lid up in time, he bent over the bowl and felt his stomach clench.

The barely digested food of his previous feast was laid out to see. He retched again, bringing up more sick. Pain radiated in his body. He kept retching, more bile passing his throat. He knew he nose and eyes were streaming. He was fairly certain he was sobbing.

Lofty felt a warm hand on his back, small circles trying to soothe his body.

A few minutes passed and the retching stopped. His forehead felt sticky against his arm as he leant over the bowl. He felt exhausted. He felt terrible. He felt disgusting.

"I haven't…this hasn't…happened before." He tried to explain. He knew a lie wouldn't suffice this time.

"It's okay, Ben," Dylan's voice was soft, "I understand."

After a few more moments of ragged breathing, Lofty sat back against the cubicle. Dylan stood by the door. Silence crept between them.

"What happened?" Dylan finally ventured.

"I ate. A lot. I couldn't…it sounds stupid but I couldn't stop."

"It's not stupid. It's highly understandable."

"I'm disgusting, Dylan," Lofty felt his voice crack, "I couldn't stop myself."

"You're not disgusting. You've put your body under an extreme amount of distress. Your body is fighting for survival – do you understand, Ben?"

"It feels like my body is trying to destroy me." Lofty hung his head, staring at the ground as he felt Dylan's eyes bore into the back of his head. "I'm so tired, Dylan. I don't know what to do."

"You can ask for help."

Lofty looked up at the other man, trying to find judgement. All he saw was concern. He looked away.

Fear pervaded his mind. He knew this moment was a crossroads and he had to make a choice although every option felt wrong. Every path was adorned with thorns and none of them were clear. His heart beat loudly in his ears. He knew there was only one option where he'd have support.

Lofty was tired of feeling alone.

"I'm not fine, Dylan…I need help."

The words came out shaky and quiet. Dylan's hand went to his shoulder and Lofty looked at the other man.

"I'm going to get you help, Ben."

For the first time, Lofty felt hope blossom in his body.

Maybe, things would be better than just fine.

* * *

A/N: I must take a second to thank you for the lovely feedback for the first chapter. I wasn't planning on writing a second but I had a wave of inspiration and here we are. With my current track record, you can expect a surprise third chapter in a year and a before, if you relate to the themes of this then please consider seeking help. There are plenty of life jackets out there, you just need to grab one.


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